Bought
by mellowenglishgal
Summary: "Who are you to judge my marriage?" Cissy said shrilly, her eyes widening. "You've never been in love." A Sirius/Narcissa oneshot. If u don't like incest, then don't read! But if you enjoy this pairing, please review and let me know!


**Author's Note**: This is Sirius/Narcissa, so if you're opposed to even fictional incestuous relationships between cousins, read no further. If not, this is a standalone scene I would have put into my fanfic _Blood Brothers_ if I didn't want the focus entirely on Harry and Draco. Oh. And they have sex, but the way. That's why it's rated M and categorised as 'Romance'! :D Otherwise what's the point for that rating? Please review.

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"Well, if you'd married Ambrosios Hyperion like I'd suggested, when you were _in love_ with him, maybe you'd have a _happy_ marriage and lots of wonderful children, instead of a spoiled brat you had to steal," Sirius growled. In times of argument, he, like the pale-haired boy downstairs, knew exactly which button to press that really _stung_. In the fiery darkness of the library he saw Cissy's cheeks draw in, highlighting the curve of her exquisite cheekbones that were thrown into relief even more by the hair she refused to let down in front of anyone but her reflection and her husband.

"And how is _your_ love-life, Sirius?" Narcissa sneered in return, though she felt a flush warm her cheeks at his words. The worst thing about arguing with Sirius was that he had been raised the same way as she had, the same way she had raised her son—to find the weak spot and stick to it to prevent physical violence.

"You don't know what you're talking about," Sirius growled, glancing away from Cissy to the gloom of the rest of the room, away from this little alcove under the balcony, with its tiled fire and cosy-corners. "I would rather be alone than be stuck in a marriage where there was no love, no affection. No respect."

"Who are you to judge my marriage?" Cissy said shrilly, her eyes widening. "You've never been in love." She turned away, to leave the little cosy-corner. The firelight illuminated her long, slender throat in a flash, catching the diamond droplet dangling from her ear that her _husband_ had no doubt bought for her as a throwaway gift to keep her happy.

Cissy gasped as he pounced on her, startling her, pinning her on her front against the rose-carved maple column supporting the balcony. She almost swooned at the feel of his body pressed tightly against hers. The feel of his hard package pressed against the dip of her backside. His hands captured hers and wrapped their arms together around the column; he had her pressed so hard against the wood her breasts hurt, she had to spread her knees to keep her balance. He breathed heavily against her neck and pressed his lower-body even closer at that, wedging his package between her upper-thighs through the fabric of her dressrobes. Dressrobes her husband had had made especially for her figure.

"How can you _say that_!" he hissed, shoving his body against hers violently, just once, enough to hear her gasp softly as she was pressed between the wood and him. Cissy closed her eyes, hearing the desperate yearning in his hoarse voice, the fierce indignation as warmth heated her thighs. "How can you _not know?_"

"Sirius—"

"Say it again," he growled, and he sounded for the first time in her life, _dangerous_. She closed her eyes, willing her body not to melt. She rested her forehead momentarily against the cool wood and gripped the other side of the column with trembling hands.

"Sirius," she said clearly, glancing over her shoulder. He rested his forehead against her temple and she locked her eye on his. His lips were slightly parted, his features plagued with perturbed bewilderment, his eyes betrayed by the fire that sparked anger deep within the crystal-clear orbs. Sirius watched her, the fluttering of the gilded eyelashes, the parting of those plump, moist lips, the firelight dancing off her lovely white teeth, teeth she had been famed for in her teenaged years because her smile had enticed so many. The delicate flower of the family, the only woman he had ever loved because she was the only woman he had never had the strength to pursue.

"Sirius, I _know_," she said, her voice throaty and she closed her eyes again, closed her mouth after licking her lips. She opened her eyes again and focused on his face. He pressed his front against her back and nuzzled her cheek with his. She had always known. Always new that when she went to Grimmauld Place, the only person he came downstairs for was _her_. When he sat across the table from her at dinner, he never took her eyes off her, never answered any questions but shot comments _at her_. Always lingered near her cheek when he kissed her goodbye. Had run away from home when she had her engagement party downstairs in the drawing-room, showing off the decoration she had been bought with.

He gripped her hands in one of his and pushed the other between her and the column, going straight for the buttons of her dressrobes down her front. She squirmed as his hand worked deftly with the tiny pearl buttons of her robes, rubbing her arse against what she knew was a huge erection. She could sense his mouth poised by her neck, yet despite what she found herself imagining, he did not kiss her throat, did not grope her breasts. He worked on those tiny buttons until they were all unhooked, and without giving her extra time to do anything else, he'd freed her hands, and ripped the dressrobes from her body, jerking them off her arms and ripping them from the front seam where the buttons ended. She heard the tear, did not see it, because the feel of his hot skin brushing ever so slightly against her body had made her eyelids loll, heavy, and she whimpered softly as Sirius's arms cradled her torso, one arm around her waist, the other under her arm, holding her close to him.

Sirius lowered his mouth to her bare throat. The five-strand pearl choker, adorned with a diamond Art Nouveau panel and a diamond clasp, glistened in the firelight, blocking his way, and he glared at it, knowing it was from _him_, and taking her hands in his again, pressing her against the column again, a knee between her thighs, his cock that he'd freed from his jeans that now resided in a heap on the floor with his boxers pressed against the dainty cream lace pantalettes, he reached in front and clasped the platinum-backed pendant in his hand and pulled. Cissy gasped, resisting the pressure that wanted to pull her forward, knowing what he was doing. The necklace broke against her neck as he pulled viciously, jerking their bodies together, making her gasp again, and her hand shot free from his fierce grip up to the back of her neck, even as freed pearls rolled down her front and scattered across the wooden floor as Sirius tossed the remnants clutched in his tightly furled fingers aside angrily. She panted as he pressed his body against hers again, her centre pulsing noticeably for the bulge pressed against it. She stood on the balls of her feet, almost on tiptoe, knees caving, her arse digging into his crotch for balance as she felt his lips gently brush where he had snapped the necklace against her flesh.

Physical contact—there was no caressing, she couldn't remember it. They copulated, they never 'made love'. He…what was his name? he never caressed her like this, paid homage to her skin, moved with utmost tenderness to remove the diamond earrings from her delicate little earlobes, dropping them to the floor carelessly. He heard the slight exhalation of breath as he kissed her neck, and nibbled on the tender, fragranced skin, holding her shoulder and waist to keep her in place as he sucked on it, even as she moaned and the hand he had not bothered to recapture rested on his head, fingers working through his hair as he kissed tenderly up from her throat to the point just below her ear, licked and sucked on her earlobe, kissed her jaw. She gasped and turned her face eagerly to meet his lips when he kissed her cheek. He panted, rocking his hips against her arse, resistance met by the column; saw her eyes sparkling, alive.

He lowered his eyes between her and the gleaming wood, to the thin pastel-pink ribbons that tied in bows the two halves of the lace chemise. Carefully, he plucked one string from each bow, gently smoothed the knot away, until the last one was untied, and seeing the lace shift over her breasts as she reached to put her hands on his hips, he slipped his hands under her arms and gently cupped her breasts in his hands. A perfect fit, smouldering warmth. Marred only by the lace. Narcissa sighed and rested her body against his. She had never been held like this. Tenderness. She revelled in it.

Her head lolled back on his shoulder and her hands found themselves placed on top of his, her fingertips gently tracing the contour of his long, clever fingers. A gentle, almost apprehensive squeeze and he moved his hands away, and she opened her eyes, missing that comforting warmth that was taking care of her, and she shivered deliciously, her nipples hardening, as his fingertips traced across her breasts, across her tender nipples, taking the lace chemise away. Freeing it from covering her torso, he cupped her breasts again, this time with no barrier. She shivered again, as he pressed his hands firmly into her breasts and kissed her neck in that spot beneath her ear that made her knees go weak, her back arch and her arse dig against his cock. He cupped her breasts again, squeezed until she moaned out, and smoothed his hands up to her collar-bone, hooking his fingers under the thin lace panels covering her shoulders, and she shivered again as he pushed the lace down her arms, her back arched so her nipples brushed against the cold wood of the column. She shivered as his fingertips traced feather-light down her waist, up again, double-checking the slender circumference.

She shot a hand out to the column, bracing herself, pushing her back against his front as his hand slipped beneath the loose lace of her pantalettes. She dug her heels in, arse pressed against his crotch, her head lolling back on his shoulder as he stood behind her, his fingers teasing her delicate folds with feather-light passes. She moaned, eyes closed, willing him to do it, knowing that if she cried out for it, he would have won entirely too quickly. He wanted her to give in to him slowly. Just as he had given in to the fact that had been bought as a decoration for another. The finger that entered her did not come from in front; he snuck down the back of her pantalettes, cupping her arse first and shoved straight inside.

No teasing, no foreplay; she laid on her back for twenty years, legs spread wide, gripping the sheets _above_ him because this was a mating ritual, a conjugal right, nothing more. Once a week. On Thursday evenings after the opera. In bed. Under the duvet. Curtains closed and lights turned low. She was hot, moist, muscles shifting. Her thighs trembled against his legs as he propped her weight up. The lace constricted movement, as did the position of the hand he used. He withdrew and she lifted her head from his shoulder, her plump lips parted, and eyes wide; _why_. He kissed the back of her neck and worked down the spine that shifted beneath his lips as she shivered. A breathy gasp emitted from her lips as he slipped the gauzy lace pantalettes from her slender hips and let them drop to her ankles. He nudged her with his nose and kissed her folds directly from where he knelt behind and below her.

Just a kiss, and then he rose again. He took her right hand, smoothed the silver bangle that resisted at the joint of her thumb and clattered to the floor and fell dead, lost. She laughed breathily as he jerked her hand, sending her tumbling onto the double-layered-silk chaise hidden behind the folding-screen creating the cosy-corner in front, the banister to the sides blocking the fireplace—but not the overwhelming heat that had her centre dripping as much as the sight of Sirius as he knelt between her knees as she hooked a knee over the padded, upholstered arm of the chaise and bent the other knee almost double, hands resting on her abdomen, gazing at him. She shifted her weight on the chaise as he tenderly took her hand—her _left _hand.

He placed her left hand in his open palm, tracing the contours of her fingers, and as with the pearl choker Lucius had given her when Draco was born, he hooked his thumb beneath the delicate baguette-and-brilliant-diamond tennis-bracelet and gritted his teeth slightly as he snapped the weakest link, letting it fall, the cool metal and the indomitable gemstones resting where the silk had puckered under her thigh. Sirius frowned as he played with her fingers, finally resting on her third finger. They must have been expensive; the rings. The first was an eternity ring; emeralds and diamonds alternating all around the band. He took this off first, carefully avoiding contact with the engagement ring. He tossed the eternity-ring in the plant-pot filled with a fragrant jasmine plant. Her favourite perfume. He bought her Narcissus.

The engagement ring wasn't the ceremonial Malfoy heirloom _he_ had used to propose with at that party when Sirius had been standing _talking_ to her, wanting to ask, before the sound of cutlery resonating purely off a crystal champagne-bowl, striding forward and taking a knee, her hand still held in Sirius's too own. She'd seen the beseeching yearning in Sirius's wide, innocent eyes that evening, had taken her hand out of his and given it to Lucius. Ceremony was everything. _That_ ring had been hideously outdated; the diamond had been cut poorly and had dulled with age and lack of proper cleaning, heavy, and much too big for Cissy's delicate hands, her slender, tapered fingers, and pretty nails. This one was an antique, too, but it was delicate, Edwardian; Art Nouveau, her favourite style. She had picked it out. Sirius would have known what to buy her in the first place. She knew he would have picked a small diamond, a delicate setting, a thin platinum band to match, and one for him as well. Lucius didn't even wear a band.

Sirius hadn't gone to the wedding. He hadn't been living at home when it was announced, had been spending the Christmas holidays when it happened. She had sent him an invitation, hoping against all her better knowledge that he would turn up. Whisk her away to his little rundown flat to continue telling her what he'd begun at that party that had turned the strawberry perched on her champagne bowl sour to taste. The last ring, the first on her finger, the only one that had never been replaced; a platinum band broken with several diamonds set into the metal. A harsh, narrow edge to the band. He'd have picked a smoothed one, one that slipped on and off her finger easily so it didn't snag the delicate folds of skin of her knuckle as it did now when he stared at it, pulling it off her finger, holding it up in front of his eyes in his thumb and forefinger, the diamonds catching the light. He frowned, and wedged the ring as far as it would go down his middle-finger, and Cissy smiled, gripping the arms of the chaise, as he plunged his finger—and the ring upon it—into her.

Fuck that, Malfoy.

Cissy moaned, relaxing back against the chaise, drawing her other knee up and spreading it, positioning her hips at a better angle, and her heart fluttered and her body trembled as Sirius removed his finger. He grabbed the ring and wrenched it (easily) off his finger, tossing it aside carelessly as he had the engagement-ring, and grabbed his thick cock. She regarded him with half-lidded, lusty eyes, sparkling brightly in the dim light that illuminated them, the flickering light illuminating the silver lights in her swept-up hair as shadows also flickered across her forehead, nose, and chin, leaving her eyes and lips illuminated. Her hands traced up his forearms as he leaned over her, carefully positioned with his cock nestled ready at her core, ready for that push, knees trembling with the effort. He shivered as her hands traced down his sides, the hips she had brought forward, knees spread wide, feet tucked almost beneath her, waiting. He shivered again as she dragged her fingernails up his sides, tickling over his nipples, and her lips—so soft, moist, supple—met his throat.

He fucked her then. Hooked his hands in the crease of her knees, pushed her legs back up on her, exposing her horrendously, making her whimper as the simple yet elaborate amethyst pin she held her hair with dug into her hair. And fucked her. Entered her with one savage thrust; she was so tight from lack of attention, who was to say how long it had been since she had lain with anyone. It could have been her first time. He revelled in the idea, but knowing it wasn't drove him insane and made him angry. He drove into her with savage thrusts, teeth gritted, eyes fiery, and when he released her legs and took up her arms instead, pinning her arms above her head to bite and suckle her breasts, savage her throat and capture her mouth in searing kisses that left her breathless, she wrapped her legs so tightly around his waist he couldn't shove into her mercilessly; he remained inside her, thrusting with measured force into her, making her moan and him groan, and when he released her arms and instead captured her waist, wrapped his arms around her back, keeping her pressed under him, her hands went to his back, the pretty nails digging into his back so he hissed and threw his head back; she retaliated for before, biting down on his beck and sucking, dragging her fingernails across his back until he felt the tracks she had created were raw.

His final claim on her before she came for him: pushing inside her, groaning, grinning as she moaned and writhed, back arching against the silken cushion beneath her, his hands smoothing her sides and reaching between them to search for her clit, he rested on one elbow, clenching his eyes shut at the exquisite experience being trapped inside her closed walls was, he reached with his free hand to the amethyst pin that held all her abundant silvery hair in a neat bun at the base of her neck. He gripped the twisted metal in his hand and pushed the weight of his torso against her as he pulled the pin out, unleashing a mane of spun silver over her shoulders, and as her small, warm hand kneaded his balls, the pin tinkled to the floor and he gripped the cushion and her waist, yelling her pet-name into her jasmine-fragranced hair. He kept pushing deeper into her, for her, and when her body went rigid, her breath panting, and she arched her neck and cried out, eyes clamped shut, whimpering his name, his body relaxed entirely.

Withdrawing from her minutes later, he rolled onto his side, drawing her head onto his bicep, her knee over his thigh, his arm cradling her waist, a finger tenderly tracing a lock of silvery hair away from her topaz eye, the soft, tumbling silver waves pooling across a fuchsia velvet pillow that had rested beneath her bottom. He nudged her nose tenderly and brushed his lips against hers.

"I _know_, too," he whispered, and she cradled his head with her arm as she crawled on top of him, capturing his lips again with a savagery only he would ever have believed possible from such a tiny sprite of a girl.

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**A.N.**: Go on, hit on that big green button below, you _know you want to_.

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